


The End in Mind

by Oakentide



Category: South Park
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 18:18:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18057599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oakentide/pseuds/Oakentide
Summary: A story of adversity, faith and devotion that follows some of the South Park boys from high school through to the end of their lives and beyond.





	The End in Mind

As they always were, Kenny’s most recent visit to Hell was burned into his memory. He could still smell the smoke, still see the fiery pits, though most of these memories were dwarfed in intensity by the latest one. It was rare that he sought out Satan, whose flaring, appraising gaze warped time and space around it. Where Hell might be sunlight to a candle against any of his Earth memories, Satan might be a pinpoint supanova, now streaking afterimage through his awareness. Even with his eyes open and himself feeling lucid, Kenny found himself groping along his locker, using touch alone to unlock it, take the books he needed, and close it up again. He stood and twisted in disjointed motions, at one point leaning on the locker for support. He managed to catch it before it hit the ground, but Kenny had also suddenly dropped one of his books because his wrist seized, burning, from recalling an errant ember in Satan's inner sanctum, the epicentre of Hell's fury.

He felt eyes on this display from the entire hall, harsh suspicions that he'd soon be back to rehab, simple moral failing the comfortable explanation for why he was using again, which he _obviously_ was. Now rumbling under flashbacks of Hell were years worth of desperate, furious whispers from the town's parents to their children of what  _might happen_ if they try _any_ drug - even once. When at last the locker was secure, and he'd taken a deep breath, he turned to face his audience properly, as clouded as they all seemed from the smoke. One set of eyes, fixed and unwavering, cut through the deep haze. A beautiful cobalt blue, piercing, ushered through the whole form of Kenny’s ex-boyfriend of two years ago. A cool, fresh puff of clarity. 

He looked uncomfortable, stiff posture broadcasting how he wanted to turn away, to have no part in gawking at the junkie, but those eyes – despite everything, Kenny prayed his own were looking, not remembering – still shone with a soul that cared for him, yet was resigned and tired. Stan burned himself out taking care of Kenny leading up to their breakup, lingering memories probably coursing through his mind right now, skirting around and through Stan's awareness of the boy in front of him. Cartman was equal parts enabler and profiteer, and Kyle much the same, but at a different angle. Bailing out a user as fucked up as Kenny wherever needed – some money here, a forged assignment or answer key there – was worth its weight in gold to Kyle, whose own drug use was sporadic, strictly dilettante, and clandestine. Kyle was thus always _very_ eager to have a friend who’d deal with the _real_ drug users in his stead. Nobody else gave Kenny the time of day, anymore.

Kenny had been clean for months. He needed help with these psychotic episodes, anti-psychotic medication keeping his thoughts together. Kenny's flashbacks from his deaths and afterlives complicated matters. Every psychiatrist he has seen has concluded that they were hallucinations, likely related to substance abuse or a deeper psychotic disorder rather than PTSD and a moderate paranoia disorder. He still hasn't convinced anybody that he can die, much less found a doctor able to incorporate that into a treatment model, so for the time being he was stuck. The synesthesia, or the overlapping of his sense modalities, was starting to seriously affect his motor skills, but he couldn't cut off any of these problems at the source, the result extremely pigeon-holed. 

His failing. The town’s lesson.                                                                               

Stan sighed, and returned to what he was doing, satisfied that it was still too early, and Kenny still not recovered enough, for him to get any closer for now. 

_His_ excuse. The grades Stan tanked were formative, not summative, and he was still on track to follow his dreams. The pity Stan showed him was new, and Kenny felt nauseous at a possible hint of contempt.

With that, Kenny was ready to remember properly, giving in to the visions, encouraged at the last moment by seeing who Stan had turned to, lovesick relief painted all over him. The rumble of Satan’s voice shook him to his bones, leaving everywhere sore – muscles fatigued, almost straining, from bracing for more motion. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and his reflexive coughing was stinging, as he trudged to his next class, awash with impressions of Satan, trailing behind his ex-boyfriend and  _his_ hopeless crush. It always hurt, but this time, he needed to do it.

“It’s done. Divine revelation falls outside of my purview, but I can _feel_ why you didn’t simply pray, and perhaps why you aren’t being honest. I’ll be paying close attention, Kenny, because you’ve piqued my interest. I've revealed to a doubting Mormon the true nature of earning eternal paradise. How _exactly_ are your envy and pride being satiated by this?"


End file.
